Blood and Water [War and Peace BBC Story]

Four

Going home was harder than going to battle.

Her home, which in her childhood, had been a palace – beautiful and enchanting and fit for a queen now felt like a lonely lie. Her mother and father were the last to inhabit the place and although Alexei was at her side, she had never felt so alone. She made her steps quick and though the change in movement was quite sudden, Alexei, with his bright red hair and brutish face, was able to recover. They stepped up to the front doors and there was a hesitation in which the footmen did not know her to be the lost daughter of the house. Alexei gave them queue enough to open the door and the woman, who was strong looking and admittedly starting to appear more and more lavish from her salary in the army.

A fur coat was coiled over her shoulders, reminiscent of something her mother had owned when she was a child. She recalled how angry the woman had been when she'd caught it on fire. As she shed the outer garment, she inhaled deeply and they were led to the drawing room, where she was astonished to find that Prince Vasily Kuragin and his son Anatole were accompanying her parents. It had not been since her coming out party that she'd seen the young man, but just as when they were mere toddlers, he managed to make her feel rather girlish.

"Anastasya?" came her mother's light voice.

"Mother," she greeted and the rest of the room turned to look upon her.

"Where...are you wearing trousers? Is that an army uniform?" Katarina Petrov gaped, standing sharply.

Ana, unflinching, nodded, "Yes, I've just come to see how you and father are getting along."

"We were sure you were dead, My Dear Girl," her father chuckled and brought her in for a tight embrace, a chuckle leaving his lips.

"I'm quite well, Papa, I assure you – I did not mean to disrupt you and your guests, but I'll be returning to the line soon and I did not want to miss my opportunity."

"I always knew you were meant for great things," he assured and kissed her forehead.

He looked her over, running his fingers along her short cropped locks and gently gave a pinch of her cheeks, pleading and ushering her to take a seat. She chuckled, Alexei and herself taking their seats. They spoke of the war and things at home, of her sisters and the marriage of Pierre Bezukhov and Helena Kuragina. During the whole of it, Anatole Kuragin could not remove his eyes from his childhood best friend. She, whom he had lost to Nikolai Rostov.

Anatole knew that she'd be gone by morning tomorrow, so as she was attempting to unwind in the reading nook by one of the large, clear glass panes in the house, he made his way to her. He seated himself slowly and she glanced his way, watching what had become of the boy, seeing his long face and sly features turned towards him. He was tall and thin and she remembered when he was hardly a charmer, but from what she could see of him now, he had left such disability in the past.